


He'll Be Comin' Out the Wormhole When He Comes

by Zoya1416



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Depression, Mercenaries, Silly songs, fear of failure, hostages
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 10:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2226012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zoya1416/pseuds/Zoya1416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miles has a new rescue mission, but he's paralyzed by the near failure of his last one. Bel has to do something. Angsty and silly--is that a thing?</p>
            </blockquote>





	He'll Be Comin' Out the Wormhole When He Comes

**Author's Note:**

> The original song, if you don't know it, is "She'll be coming round the mountain when she comes," but many versions and adaptations exist. It's rated teen only for a couple of bad words I feel are appropriate to the story.

Miles blistered the ensign's ear, enraged that she'd spilled coffee on a keyboard. She was new, she was eager, and when she'd jumped up to salute Miles, her mug fell over backward.

It wasn't really a problem, thought Bel. They had plenty of spare keyboards on the bridge. This was the Peregrine--she was stuffed with replacement equipment of every kind. But Miles was wound up and almost frothing.“Why do you have to be so clumsy? Even little mistakes can cost us the mission. Do you remember “for want of a nail, etc"—and finally the battle was lost? Miles was a foot shorter than the ensign, but seemed taller as he flew into a tirade. Bel was stunned at this display.

The ensign, a pale seventeen year old from Sergyar whose entire life had been spent in backbreaking manual labor terraforming the family farm, made things worse by stammering, “N-no sir—Admiral—I don't think I've ever heard that. We don't get much poetry on Sergyar."

“Then get off the bridge and don't come back until you understand it!” The little Admiral stood with legs apart, scowling.

The ensign had gone away with her fist to her mouth, and the mercenaries knew she was trying not to cry. Women officers were expected to perform at the same level as male--there could be no slack over that--but for heaven's sake, she was just a kid! 

Miles left a moment later, heading back to the cabin where he'd been holed up, thought the Betan officer. The silence on the bridge was hot and angry. Everyone turned their heads down over comconsoles and work stations. The fleet would never mutiny against Admiral Naismith--probably never--but he was driving them away for reasons they couldn't understand. He didn't own all the fleet outright—several ships belonged to individual owners, and heaven knew what would happen If--when--they heard of this. They couldn't option out during a contract, but nothing could keep them afterwards. 

A major problem in Miles' stress, thought Bel, was that Lairouba's wormhole was located unusually far away from the Dendarii's target. It was taking much longer than normal to cross the system. Everyone couldn't help thinking about the hostages, hoping they were in good shape. They'd had no word since jumping in-system. They had only accepted the Lairouba contract because they were somewhat closer after their last mission. Now they were far out in the Nexus. Bel didn't know why Miles had agreed to the contract, but the Baba of Lairouba had apparently met Miles once, and asked for him. Even at this far distance the ships were still well stocked and supplied. Mercenaries could never count on friendly planets, so they always duplicated and re-duplicated critical equipment. A keyboard, however, was still not a critical item. Bel had seen for several days that Miles was more tense and anxious—hell, the whole ship would know it after today. Normally the hermaphrodite captain could cheer Miles up with a stream of ironic bantering. Miles had been business-like on the bridge (until today), but there was none of the banter and camaraderie which encouraged the crew and chased away any fears. He'd been hiding in his cabin except to come out and criticize something. He wasn't even talking to the closest of his officers. It was as far from the normal Admiral Naismith as it could be. He just wasn't acting like the man who knew most of his five thousand troops by name and could ask about their families, their problems.

Today had been a tipping point. Bel couldn't let things go on like this, and so the worried officer sought reinforcements.

Bel, Elli, and Taura knocked on Miles' cabin door. He called “come in,” but his voice was muffled. This was because he was lying on his bunk with a wet towel over his head. All the lights were off except the comconsole, and it was silently displaying a video of the hostages the Dendariis had come to rescue. The little family of three boys and a girl was romping on a wooden gym behind their house. A beautiful mother in gold-embroidered robes sat peacefully watching them.

“I've got a migraine. Five minutes before I throw you out.” Why this surliness? What was behind all the anger?

“We're a little worried, Miles,” started Bel. “You don't seem like yourself.”

“I'm fine."

“You know, that poor ensign is going to go AWOL the first friendly system we come to.”

Silence. The Betan could hear Miles' ragged and uneven breathing and realized the little admiral was on the edge of a meltdown. Miles had never, never been like this. Bel would have sworn that the Admiral had enough self-confidence to fill a parade balloon, but somebody had pricked his bubble today.

“It will all go fine this time.” Elli tried to reassure him. Her brown curls were dressed softly around her head, but her fingernails were bitten down even further than usual. She was down to nibbling on the sides of her fingers. 

“Like it went fine the last time? We were barely in time before those thugs shot the Vega Station commissioner. They made the whole family watch, beat the shit out of him and were tying him to the firing squad stake. Two more minutes and we'd have lost him. Two minutes. That's unacceptable. That's not what we promise with ''daring rescues our specialty.”

“But we did extract him and the entire family. Everyone is safe. I know they sent you thank-you mails--I saw them.” Taura coaxed him. It was odd to hear that deep-timbred voice pleading.

In answer Miles turned over and faced the wall. He had pulled out his oldest quilt—his security blanket, Bel had teased—and covered himself head to toe. The air conditioner sighed as it hissed on. Miles' voice was a whisper. “Fine? Those kids and their mother will be scarred for life. The scene was grotesque—it was pure luck we got there.”

“Pure luck and the Admiral's skill.” Bel was firm now. “Come on. Think about this mission. If you dwell in the past, we're all in danger." The Betan had no idea what they would do if Miles completely funked it. Elli was the second in command, and she'd be competent on her own, but it would damage the Dendariis forever if the Admiral sat sulking in his tent. Bel had a ghastly image of Miles in a shuttle craft, dragging the kidnappers' explosively decompressed leader around the planet after Elli's death.

“It's five minutes. You can leave. You too, Elli.” Miles pulled the quilt up further, covering his head entirely.

In the corridor an obviously shocked Elli fled back to her quarters. "I'll talk to you later. Just give me a bit." 

Bel and Taura looked at each other. The trim captain and the eight foot tall sergeant wore identical worried expressions. If all their senior leaders were falling apart...

“What is wrong with him? He's NEVER talked to me like that. What are we going to do?” Taura almost whimpered. “I'm great at bellowing, and blasting, and tearing things apart, but there's nothing I can do here. I don't think even if I kis”... she looked down her large but distinctively female body and blushed.

Bel had never known whether Taura had been one of the Admiral's many paramours. Apparently so. The Betan officer had a flaming spasm of jealousy. Miles would screw a ferocious be-fanged Taura but not a herm just because there was a second set of bits? Jealousy was not helpful here. Allies were. ”S all right. Nothing I haven't thought of myself. I'd do him in a heartbeat if I knew it would help. I WILL think of something. A cattle prod if we need to.”

She nodded uncertainly, and also turned quickly back to her quarters.

Bel spent the next eight hours ripping through the comconsole's web. The Betan had seen Miles manic during a mission, and let down and moody after the end of one, but never this silent and black when planning was needed. Obviously he was frightened and depressed, but what to do? You couldn't drug your superior officer, and Miles had a history of abnormal reactions to drugs anyway. He'd mentioned in passing that fast-penta made him hyper rather than goofy and cooperative. What to do, what to do—humor was good for depression, but a comedy team couldn't be materialized by a snap of the fingers. How did you lift someone's morale? What about songs? Stupid marching songs had been part of the military forever. 

One of the older mercenary chants was “One, two, three four, we will fight your" (stupid, bloody, or fu—ing) "war.” Okay, bad language was always an option, but it was tacky. Better to do without. Bel got a new cup of tea, drinking in the herbal flavor. Funny how long tea had been a calming ceremony, dating back to ancient Earth. England? Wherever England was. The aroma was soothing, but Miles always wrinkled his nose. He wasn't happy until he made someone taste the Vorkosigan District's hideous maple mead.

Something flitted across Bel's mind like a quicksilver fish. Earth songs—joking—marching—rhyming—a childhood pastime on Beta was singing songs in rounds. Keeping up with the verses had been entertaining—they only got to sing rounds in the last ten minutes before the end of the day on Friday. They anticipated this treat all week. Thorne's mind wandered away from the Miles problem. There had been good childhood years, before the herm knew how different people were outside the hermaphrodite sector. Drifting, unsatisfied, unwilling to train as an LPST—why did people think that all hermaphrodites wanted to spend their lives showing awkward teens which part went where? Miles had been a ticket out of this old life and losing the Dendariis was unthinkable. No one in Oser's troops had had any idea who the "Dendariis" were. Discovering it later had been a clue to the Admiral's real identity.

The air conditioner hissed on. Earth, and singing rounds, and something about a mountain—Bel sent the conconsole to search again, and in a minute had the response. It should work—and if it didn't, at least the crew would have spent time in harmony and good humor. The officer grinned evilly.

^^^^^^^^

Taura pounded on Miles door. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed it open, and wrinkled her sensitive nose. Somehow Miles had generated a strong body odor in only a few hours. She plunged ahead with the plan.

“Wake up, sir—there's something wrong with the air filters. Everyone's locked up in the refectory, but it's very crowded and the air is getting thick!”

Miles swung out of bed and was moving before his eyes were open. He swiped back his hair and said, “When did this start? What do you think has happened? It was alright this morning!"

“But sir, it's nighttime now—you've been asleep all day, and it just crept up—Bel was the one quick enough to realize we had increased CO2 when Elli started to pass out!”

Taura was pleased to see that Miles wasted not a step. He couldn't keep up with her long lopes—no one could—but he was running flat out even before she told him Elli was at risk. They had picked the one emergency which wouldn't allow him a moment to hesitate.

He tore open the door to the refectory. It was not big enough to hold the Peregrine's whole crew, normally, but all the chairs had been removed. The tables had been pushed against the wall, and the large room was packed. People were even standing three deep on the tables. Oddly, though, no one looked sick or exhausted. In fact—they were smiling, and at Bel's direction—what was Bel doing standing in front like an orchestra conductor? The gleeful herm lifted a hand and brought it down sharply and the men and women sang out “Hi Admiral!”

Elli was behind him and pushed him into a chair. Angry, he tried to rise, but then Taura was pressing down, too.

Bel grinned widely. “Admiral Naismith! Please accept our worshipful offering of song!”

He was baffled and getting more steamed. What the hell? If this wasn't a real emergency, but a simple practical joke, Bel wouldn't be wearing captain's stripes after today. But Elli and Taura seemed to be involved too. Wait---what? They wouldn't all risk discipline for a joke. He sat in the chair, in stocking feet, as he now realized.

The choir began:

“He'll be comin' out the wormhole when he comes!  
He'll be comin out the wormhole when he comes!  
He'll be comin' out the wormhole, he'll be comin out the wormhole, he'll be comin' out the wormhole when he comes!”

The crew made gagging sounds, presumably to symbolize the jump sickness with its mild nausea (If you had any more jump reactions than mild nausea, a interstellar career was not for you)

Bemused, he listened to the next verse.

“He will bring Dendariis when he comes  
He will bring Dendariis when he comes  
He will bring Dendariis, he will bring Dendariis, he will bring Dendariis when he comes”

They gave the firmest salute possible at the end of the verse, then gagged. 

This must be—oh no, a song lasting as long as memory could hold out, or til the singers started laughing too hard to continued. 

He sat biting his lip as further verses announced, but Bel could hear him begin to snort.

“He will drop three ready squads when we come”  


This song, if you could call it that, wavered frequently on the syllable accent, forcing the meter to get the line through. Figured, though. Bel had only had a few hours to play with a much older tune.

Hands to head, apparently signaling the placement of helmets, then followed by crisp salutes and gag, gag.

“He will bring new plasma arcs when he comes,” ITZOW, ITZOW.' Hands to head, crisp salute, gag gag.

The choir was beginning to come apart as various persons failed to remember all the lines and gestures, and some of them started guffawing.

“He will bring great big Taura when he comes” Taura supplied her own growl, then they continued with the recital. “growl growl, ITZOW ITZOW, hands to head, crisp salutes, gag gag.

A pause, and then the mood grew serious for a moment

..."He will rescue all the family when he comes.” They crossed arms on their chests and hugged themselves, and there were a few extra beats of silence as they finished the lines, before they started back on the call and response "growl, growl..."

A final verse pulled the rounds back to silliness.

“We will all drink maple mead when he comes”—glug glug, hands to chest, growl growl, ITZOW ITZOW, hands to helmets, then crisp salutes from everyone in the room, held for another second before they all called out, "gag, gag."

Bel looked at Miles. He was leaning back in his chair, snorting and laughing, and shaking his head.

After a tardy one or two muttered 'gag, gag,' Miles climbed onto his chair.  
He was back in full Admiral Naismith mode, but didn't want to break the spell that had been been performed.

“Crew! Men! Women! Honorable Herm! I thank you all for your offering, and all your hard work . We're about to have more hard work, hot and heavy. Are you ready?" "Yes!" "Are you ready?" "YES!" "ARE YOU READY??" "YESSSSS!!!" "Daring rescues are our specialty!” He stood in command, proud of them, holding position as the now rowdy crew cheered, stomped, and whistled.

"Dismissed!"

He hopped off his chair, finding himself surrounded by Bel, Taura, and Elli, to whom he gave private hugs.

“I'm back, guys. Dismissed...thanks.”

He walked back to his quarters, Bel beside him. The herm's quarters were two doors away down the same corridor.

“You know,” said Bel thoughtfully. “I really wanted them to sing another verse but Taura and Elli wouldn't let me.”

"Oh?" 

It started singing under its breath.

“He'll get good and fu**** by Bel til he comes...”

Miles punched the herm on the shoulder. “Nice try but no cigar—I mean, no, Bel. Really. But thanks for helping me get my head out of my ass.”

“Welcome back, Miles,” 

The herm gave him a genuine, non-ironic smile and hesitated. Miles thought momentarily that Bel was going to try to kiss him, which meant he'd have to get out of it gracefully. But Bel only slapped him on the shoulder.

Miles said, “Let's get those sons-of-bitches, Captain Thorne.'  
Bel said, “Yessir, Admiral. With all pleasure.”


End file.
